


Progress

by Nebulad



Series: Sea of Stars [17]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Crabby Crest still playing with his datapad?” Solana asked, nudging her brother. His fringe raised a little— Shep still couldn’t tell if that was indignation or irritation— but he didn’t put down the device.</p><p>“Victus still needs troop recommendations, and the krogan still haven’t entirely left. I’m the only thing standing in the way of an intergalactic incident,” he said flatly.<br/>“It’ll keep for a night, Garrus, let’s go out,” Solana insisted.</p><p>“You and Faust go,” he said, casting his eyes down at Shepard.</p><p>“Leave the house Garrus,” Solana suggested, her tone less inviting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progress

Turian prosthetic legs were actually exactly how Faust had pictured them— sharp, metallic, and highly effective. Garrus only limped if he stayed on his feet too long, which couldn’t really be blamed on the leg because he fucking refused to take a day off to rest. The last time he’d sat down was before he’d become mobile again.

Shepard woke up thinking about it sometimes— how blue everything had been after the Reaper had thrown the vehicle and almost hit him, just crushing his leg instead of killing him. She’d been blue all over until her armour had been seared to her body— she used to love blue. His armour was blue, and she’d made her armour blue to match. He liked when she wore blue, said it made her eyes pop.

She kept to black lately. It was easy, with all the fucking funerals she attended.

She had down time, though, enough to study his new leg while he absently clicked away on a datapad. He didn’t like it, she knew, but he wouldn’t sign up for the limb-cloning list. _There’s a lot of people on Palaven that need pieces grown back, Shep. I can handle a fake leg for as long as it takes._

They were on Palaven at the moment— her apartment on the Citadel had blown up, and when he’d asked her if she wanted to go to Earth, she’d simply said what she’d been telling him quietly all the way through the war: she wasn’t from Earth, and Mindoir had been gone since she was sixteen. His homeworld was as good as any, even if the atmosphere did sort of irritate her asthma.

“Stop staring at it, Shep,” Garrus scolded without looking up.

“It looks neat though,” she protested, although it wasn’t quite the phrasing she wanted. She was _so_ careful about what she said about his leg because it bothered him so badly. There was a turian obsession with the ability to serve, and by losing his leg and being taken from the fight at the last moment he felt he’d failed her somehow. He didn’t understand that _surviving_ was the only thing she had ever asked him to do.

“Same realm as human prosthetics?” he asked, but he didn’t sound like he was genuinely all that curious. He’d been quieter lately, which she’d expected— she was too, and she wondered if like her, he was starting to think that they should maybe go see someone about that.

“Dunno. Never met anyone with one,” she admitted, then leaned against him. He was wearing civilian clothes, which used to vaguely excite her— she could count on one hand the times she’d seen him in civvies where she wasn’t going to get laid immediately afterward.

He couldn’t wear armour and support the leg at the same time yet. He practiced: far away from his family, who wanted to help him. It wasn’t like Garrus to ask for help unless it was help shooting something. Shepard hadn’t even known his mother had died in the six months she’d been under house arrest until Solana told her.

Distantly, Shep heard a door open and some mild cursing. They were staying with Garrus’ dad and sister, as neither of them were cleared to live alone and two broken soldiers did not make one whole one. Solana and Talus were happy to have them though— they’d been without Garrus for too long, and although Shepard sensed that Talus largely blamed _her_ for his son’s absence, Solana was thrilled to have someone new in the house.

Solana entered, handing Faust a package with her name on it. “Scanned before they delivered it, of course,” she said with a little roll of her eyes, then plopped down next to Garrus. “I think it’s clothes.”

“My Admiral’s uniform. They promoted me, if I wanted to return to duty— promoted Kaidan too, should I not,” she said, putting the package beside her. She wasn’t going to, she’d decided— she liked Palaven, loved Garrus, and was sick of fighting all the time. She could protect people without a military sanction.

“Crabby Crest still playing with his datapad?” Solana asked, nudging her brother. His fringe raised a little— Shep still couldn’t tell if that was indignation or irritation— but he didn’t put down the device.

“Victus still needs troop recommendations, and the krogan still haven’t entirely left. I’m the only thing standing in the way of an intergalactic incident,” he said flatly.

“It’ll keep for a night, Garrus, let’s go _out,”_ Solana insisted.

“You and Faust go,” he said, casting his eyes down at Shepard. She was still leaning against him, trying to ignore her translator’s rapid subtitles every time she looked at his screen.

“Leave the _house_ Garrus,” Solana suggested, her tone less inviting. Shepard braced herself. She’d never had siblings, so she hadn’t been totally prepared for how often they fought— Solana admitted that it wasn’t just the high stress of Palaven’s repairs and Garrus’ leg. _We just fight— it’s impossible to not fight with Garrus, because he doesn’t listen._ “Even dad is worried about you now—”

“If he has a problem he can tell me,” Garrus returned shortly. “I have to get back to this, Lana, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t, really, and everyone in the room knew it. Leaving Menae had been hard for him, and leaving Palaven behind without being sure of his family’s safety had been worse. He threw himself into relief efforts to apologize for a war that hadn’t been his fault.

“Wrex could handle it,” Shepard muttered against his shoulder.

“Spirits Shep, not you too.”

“I mean, it’d be better for him to do it anyway. Turian-Krogan relations aren’t going to improve if Palaven keeps trying to run the show. Handing it over to Wrex for a night demonstrates some trust, and you know him so it’s also fairly low risk,” she explained.

“Fairly?”

“As long as the turians keep playing nice, so will Wrex.” She didn’t think Wrex was at all inclined to be ornery anyway— he’d gotten what he’d wanted a thousand times over, and the whole damn universe was once again indebted to the krogans. Victus had also been pretty fucking cooperative, all things considered.

Garrus stared down at her without saying anything for a while, then sighed out heavily. _“Fine._ I’ll call Wrex and you two go get ready— _Faust_ picks where we go though!” he shouted at Solana’s already retreating figure. She didn’t make a sound to indicate she’d heard, and Garrus sighed. “Nothing too wild, all right?”

“I’m not _that_ dense, big guy. We’ll go see a movie— a theatre near here just got up and running again. All the fun of going out without the drag of standing up,” she offered. He nodded and hauled himself to his feet, stretching out his cramped limbs. “Gare?”

“Hm?” He was giving her that far-away look, like he was only pretending to be present. She stood up and kissed his mandible.

“I think we should talk when we get home,” she muttered. He looked for all the world ready to argue— he even sucked in a breath that already sounded like an argument, but released a resigned sigh instead.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He didn’t sound excited about it, but she wasn’t either. It wasn’t really a fun-packed future they were planning. “What happened to us, Shep?”

“Hey, if you think we look rough, you should see the other guys,” she shot back, trying to cheer him up a little. The results were mixed— he huffed out a little laugh and another sigh to go with it, then moved into the kitchen to start dialling— but it was _something,_ and it was progress.

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) if you're curious and looking for fresh fic instead of drafts I dug up.


End file.
